


The Lawrence School of Fine Music Education

by HailleFaith



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Cello, F/M, Kissing, M/M, Music, Underage - Freeform, percussion, school au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-20
Updated: 2014-10-20
Packaged: 2018-02-21 22:16:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2484269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HailleFaith/pseuds/HailleFaith





	The Lawrence School of Fine Music Education

The weight of the cello on my back, usually barely noticeable, was crippling today. I had a sort of embarrassment getting onto the bus, the wide hips of the instrument catching between the doors. The driver, a woman who seemed to be Death’s own secretary, looked down at me from her perch with sullen, bagged eyes. I think she tried to say something (most likely along the lines of “Hurry the fuck up and get your dumb instrument through the door so I can get you to school.”), but I heard nothing and proceeded to sit down in the first seat on the left, my cello propped in the window seat as my inanimate companion.

There was a boy my age, maybe slightly older, sitting two seats behind me. His head was down, his eyes glued to his phone, so I couldn’t get a clear view of his face, but he had a chiseled jaw and sandy blond hair. Hanging from a strap around his neck similar to a messenger purse was a bag of percussionist equipment. “Another pretty boy percussionist.” I thought to myself, huffing under my breath. Half of the percussionists I had ever experienced were in orchestra for a study hall with a fine arts credit and nothing more. They did nothing and were quite content with that.

The bus driver, nearly blind, as far as I could tell, managed to get us to school on time – the Lawrence School of Fine Music Education. This was my first year attending LSFME. It was a fairly new building, designed with a modern touch to appeal to a more eclectic crowd, with whitewashed brick and black accenting. The front doors – automatic – swept open, swallowing me in as I approached the school. Pulling out a map of the school from my pocket, I scoured the black and white print, looking for the advanced orchestra room until I was interrupted by a tap on the shoulder. Turning around, I came face-to-face with a tall, gangly boy with long brown hair. He beamed at me and said,

“Hi! I’m Sam. You new here?”

I coughed, blushing a little bit, embarrassed that it was blatantly obvious that I was new. “Yeah. I’m Castiel. Can you show me where room 172-A is, please?”

“Oh, you’ve got Advanced Orch first? Sweet, me and my brother, Dean, do too. He’s around here somewhere.”

Sam, leading the way, gave me a tour of the school as we walked to room 172-A. The library, quite small for an advanced arts school, was the first room we passed. I made a mental note to stop there later. We came across the cafeteria next – students sat, clumped together, eating breakfast and discussing the ever-important topic of who was dating who and whose outfit didn’t match. Finally, Sam led me into the Advanced Orchestra classroom. I was taken aback. The room was beautiful. Hardwood floors throughout, the room had a high ceiling and windows all around. “Probably has great acoustics.” I thought to myself, smiling. 7 rows of chairs were laid out in a fan shape with more percussion instruments than I had ever seen lined up at the back wall. Near one of them stood Blond Boy, earphones in, playing a sonata that I didn’t recognize on the marimba.

“Dean!” Sam called, sliming, as he started over to Blond Boy, who removed one earphone and smiled.

“Hey, Sammy. How was zero period?”

“It was alright.” Sam shrugged. “Ruby didn’t show up, so I had to make the violin duet a solo. Again.”

“Not surprising, dude.” Dean laughed, clapping his brother on the shoulder. It was then that he noticed me behind Sam. Straightening up a bit, he asked, “Who’s this, Sammy?”

“He’s, uh…” Sam “Sorry, man, I’m bad with names.” He grinned sheepishly, shrugging a little bit. I gave him a small smile and turned to his brother.

“I’m Castiel.”

“Castiel, huh?” Dean commented. “That’s, uh, unique.”

“I’m names after an angel. All of my siblings and I are. My parents are very religious. Me, on the other hand…” I laughed, rolling my eyes. “Not so much.”

“Alright, fair enough.” Dean laughed. “So, you’re a cellist, Casti... Cassi… Cas?” I laughed. “Can I call you Cas?”

“Whatever you’d like,” I laughed, “I’ve been called every deviation of my name that you could ever think of.”

Dean smiled, white teeth against pink gums. My breath hitched at the sight of him. He truly was beautiful. His eyes sparkled under the artificial lighting, some of the same light catching on the lightest strands of his hair as well.

After a long moment, it was Sam's voice that broke me out of the apparent trance I was put in at the sight of his brother. "You alright, Cas?"

"Y-yes, I'm fine, Sam. Thank you." I stammered, busying myself with unbuckling my cello case in order to distract myself from the percussionist standing before me. "I'm going to go practice for a bit before class now."

"Alright, man." responded Dean, with a flicker of curiosity in his emerald eyes. "I'll be over here if you need anything."

I needed to find an excuse to need something.

 

X

My cello, after being exposed to the brick morning air, was cold and stiff. Lovingly, I ran my hand up the fingerboard against her strings, warming her up under my soft touch. She responded quickly, the wood of her frame loosening as she sucked the warmth from my fingertips. Plucking each string, - C, then G, D, and A - I made sure she was still in tune. As always, her pitch was perfect.

Bow in hand, I ran my dark amber cake of rosin up and down the 4 strings. I could feel Dean's gaze burning into my side as I handled my bow. _'Good.'_ I thought. _'Go ahead and stare.'_

After supplying a sufficient amount of rosin to my bow, I ran it over my G-string. Lightly. Gently. The sound made was beautiful and sorrowful. Running my ringers up and down the metal strings, The Swan began to compose itself from my fingers. Starting on a high B, I began the soulful descent down my strings, imagining the piano accompaniment in my head as I played. Eyes closed, I put all thought processes, all emotion, into each note emitting from the deep cavity of my cello. 

Suddenly, though, the piano accompaniment was not solely in my head.

Dean was playing it on his marimba.

Upon this startling realization, I stumbled over the next few notes and stopped bowing. Dean stopped immediately after. We sat in a thick silence for a few moments until I raised my bow once more and started from the beginning of the piece. Not surprisingly, Dean followed suit and soon we were, once again, playing an unacquainted duet.

He knew exactly how the song should be played, and for that I was grateful. As I crescendoed, he did too, the sixteenth notes emitting from his instrument clear and precise and understood. The musicality that was being produced between the two of us was incredulous. We sounded as if we had been performing together for years, as we were best friends and knew each other inside and out. If I hadn't known any better, I'd have thought we shared some sort of profound, unspoken bond.

Sooner than I would have liked, the song was nearing its end. I was suddenly on the last note of the piece, the same note as the first. The high B swirled out of my cello, vibrato causing it to have the slightest touch of uncertainty, like a book ending in the middle of a sentence.

I lowered my bow. He lowered his mallets. We didn't speak or make eye contact until Dean coughed awkwardly. "That, uh." he spoke finally, voice gravelly. "That was really good, man. You're a great musician."

I turned to face him, blue eyes meeting green. "Thank you, Dean. I wasn't aware you knew The Swan?"

"Yeah, uh. Sammy likes it." he said, rubbing his hand against the back of his neck.

"I see." I said, turning away. "We should play together more often."

Dean, looking up at me, began to speak, only letting out one syllable before the bell starting first period cut him off. 

I hope he was agreeing.


End file.
